The Fancy A Selection from the Poetical Remains of the late Peter Corcoran, of Gray's Inn, Student at Law. With a brief memoir of his life [by J. H. Reynolds] |
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STANZAS,
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 | The Fancy |  |
100
STANZAS,
ON REVISITING SHREWSBURY.
I remember well the time,—the sweet school-boy time,—
When all was careless thought with me, and summer was my sleep;
I wish I could recal that school-boy day of prime,
For manhood is a sorry thing—and mine is plunged deep
In faults that bid me weep.
When all was careless thought with me, and summer was my sleep;
I wish I could recal that school-boy day of prime,
For manhood is a sorry thing—and mine is plunged deep
In faults that bid me weep.
I remember well the Severn's fair peerless flight,—
How can I e'er forget her silent glory and her speed!
The wild-deer of all rivers was she then unto my sight,
But now in common lustre doth she hurry through the mead,—
Her flow I do not heed.
How can I e'er forget her silent glory and her speed!
The wild-deer of all rivers was she then unto my sight,
But now in common lustre doth she hurry through the mead,—
Her flow I do not heed.
101
A copse there was of hazels,—a cloud of radiant green,—
A lustrous veil of fruitful leaves to hide the world from me;
It seem'd when I was nutting there to be a fairy scene,
Ah! never more thereafter a fairy scene to be—
Save in sad memory
A lustrous veil of fruitful leaves to hide the world from me;
It seem'd when I was nutting there to be a fairy scene,
Ah! never more thereafter a fairy scene to be—
Save in sad memory
For my school-boy limbs, the river ran riot through the night,
The fields were full of star-like flowers, and overgrown with joy;
The trees around my play ground were a very stately sight,
But some spirit hath gone over them, to wither and destroy—
“Who would not be a boy!”
The fields were full of star-like flowers, and overgrown with joy;
The trees around my play ground were a very stately sight,
But some spirit hath gone over them, to wither and destroy—
“Who would not be a boy!”
102
The Towers of that Old House, in which I did abide
When early days were friends with me,—seem alter'd to my eyes;
They do not stand so solemnly at night in moonlight pride,
As when upon the silver hours by stealth I did arise,
For garden revelries.
When early days were friends with me,—seem alter'd to my eyes;
They do not stand so solemnly at night in moonlight pride,
As when upon the silver hours by stealth I did arise,
For garden revelries.
And in the river's place, and the nut-trees, and the night,
And the poetry that is upon the moonlit earth,—
I have lone rooms, and sad musings, and a fast unceasing flight
Of friends,—of self esteem:—Oh, my heart aches with the dearth
Of honour and of worth.
And the poetry that is upon the moonlit earth,—
I have lone rooms, and sad musings, and a fast unceasing flight
Of friends,—of self esteem:—Oh, my heart aches with the dearth
Of honour and of worth.
103
'Tis vain to visit olden scenes,—they change like other friends,
Their faces are not now the same, the youth of things is gone.
To others they may yet be bright,—and that must make amends:
The Towers to them may yet arise and frown in awful stone—
The Stream, in light, flow on.
Their faces are not now the same, the youth of things is gone.
To others they may yet be bright,—and that must make amends:
The Towers to them may yet arise and frown in awful stone—
The Stream, in light, flow on.
| The Fancy | |